Saturday, April 24, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
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Thursday, April 22, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
'wide blade' by Brad Hamers
a shovel was needed to move forward
the only way out was down
the conversation was
whether the cake his gramma left in the oven was what killed her
or did she die while baking
nothing was left without fire written into it
nothing in our dialogue jumped high enough to break earth
we couldn't get any closer to dieing than we already were
all of us tried
some of us with pianos and moving straps
some of us with boxes of wood and nails
the rain was paint thinner on Pine st.
all the scuffs run
jumping off planks
into the gaps (and under cups)
we were flipping coins
trying to pick our candy (how much sugar to put in the machine)
the only way out was in
we stood tongue and groove
talking our way around the security light (in each of us)
that each of us shone
mine was strobe
having a fit on the lawn with a burglar mask half on
we were each openings
cut for different size tongues and eyes
for different amounts of breath
we would each die at different times
each only using up so much air
a shovel was needed to move forward
the only way up was down
the talk was mold on the town was growing in the ears
of every last corn popping safely in its pan
did she die because the cake caught fire
or did the cake burn all the evidence
because there might have been something worth keeping inside
we talked mostly like night-lights
never coming unplugged
talked around the sewer openings and manholes into ourselves (by believing our steam was poison)
by avoiding ourselves
i found me for a second shouting from a balcony of memory
fleshy parts of the time that stuck
we were all gum under ceo's desks
chewing every last piece of paper closer to the bottom line
trying to eat our end(s)
every flower in the room was in 4/4 timing
every chair sat facing the question
closed shut and embalmed
every flower had a credit card receipt (never signed)
we sat down with our eyes somewhere else
we each held death in ourselves
some on a tire swing
some in handcuffs and moving straps
some on several tied together bungee cords
the conversation never jumped from its branch
we were all the same brand bird in one tree without leaves
each a different amount of sky away from flying
each an open question caught up in its clouds
like fishing net
like stock on the next hot selling breath
like the next most attractive moment
we each held our tags out
like what amount of this conversation is wall is fortress around the topic
where do we get off not dieing with her
where does all the system (of doing this) that burns us melt
(the car runs like a candle) (the exit's coming)
we get off
shooting around gas money
shaking ourselves upsidedown for a way to get there
and suddenly it happens
our cake starts burning in our ears
the rings around our eyes tell our age
we were born head first facing up into this long dirt road toward everything
they called it nothing everywhere else all the same
it didn't matter how his grandmother or my grandmother died
it was what it meant to those still alive burying their death
a shovel wasn't around
we rendered it no longer needed to move forward
our slowly poured tap milk on ice melts
and backwash becomes sustenance
we all hold each others breath together
to get off
(only death can come)
going only towards what can make us come
i walked toward a box on a corner with free written on it
the american dream was something to sleep in
an empire queen bed with a mosquito mask
i jumped as high as i could into the shovel
and broke earth
wallet under my fingernails
today's color sugar under my tongue
i sit plenty with death stuffed full of living
the cake says try harder
the chip on my shoulder yells dip
i die face first looking up screaming without a word
(they slapped me to see if i was birthed)
the shovel was used to cut me out
we reached the right shape to finally put it in the oven
we all walked away thinking a thousand miles of dirt road out
every unspoken word now had handlebars (with streamers)
to ride straight down a mountain
the cliff we each question ourselves as
i didn't know if i was holding on or on firm ground (holding them)
(or some variation of myself)
mostly it jumped back and forth between both
any way is really the way out
any way is really the way out
the only way out was down
the conversation was
whether the cake his gramma left in the oven was what killed her
or did she die while baking
nothing was left without fire written into it
nothing in our dialogue jumped high enough to break earth
we couldn't get any closer to dieing than we already were
all of us tried
some of us with pianos and moving straps
some of us with boxes of wood and nails
the rain was paint thinner on Pine st.
all the scuffs run
jumping off planks
into the gaps (and under cups)
we were flipping coins
trying to pick our candy (how much sugar to put in the machine)
the only way out was in
we stood tongue and groove
talking our way around the security light (in each of us)
that each of us shone
mine was strobe
having a fit on the lawn with a burglar mask half on
we were each openings
cut for different size tongues and eyes
for different amounts of breath
we would each die at different times
each only using up so much air
a shovel was needed to move forward
the only way up was down
the talk was mold on the town was growing in the ears
of every last corn popping safely in its pan
did she die because the cake caught fire
or did the cake burn all the evidence
because there might have been something worth keeping inside
we talked mostly like night-lights
never coming unplugged
talked around the sewer openings and manholes into ourselves (by believing our steam was poison)
by avoiding ourselves
i found me for a second shouting from a balcony of memory
fleshy parts of the time that stuck
we were all gum under ceo's desks
chewing every last piece of paper closer to the bottom line
trying to eat our end(s)
every flower in the room was in 4/4 timing
every chair sat facing the question
closed shut and embalmed
every flower had a credit card receipt (never signed)
we sat down with our eyes somewhere else
we each held death in ourselves
some on a tire swing
some in handcuffs and moving straps
some on several tied together bungee cords
the conversation never jumped from its branch
we were all the same brand bird in one tree without leaves
each a different amount of sky away from flying
each an open question caught up in its clouds
like fishing net
like stock on the next hot selling breath
like the next most attractive moment
we each held our tags out
like what amount of this conversation is wall is fortress around the topic
where do we get off not dieing with her
where does all the system (of doing this) that burns us melt
(the car runs like a candle) (the exit's coming)
we get off
shooting around gas money
shaking ourselves upsidedown for a way to get there
and suddenly it happens
our cake starts burning in our ears
the rings around our eyes tell our age
we were born head first facing up into this long dirt road toward everything
they called it nothing everywhere else all the same
it didn't matter how his grandmother or my grandmother died
it was what it meant to those still alive burying their death
a shovel wasn't around
we rendered it no longer needed to move forward
our slowly poured tap milk on ice melts
and backwash becomes sustenance
we all hold each others breath together
to get off
(only death can come)
going only towards what can make us come
i walked toward a box on a corner with free written on it
the american dream was something to sleep in
an empire queen bed with a mosquito mask
i jumped as high as i could into the shovel
and broke earth
wallet under my fingernails
today's color sugar under my tongue
i sit plenty with death stuffed full of living
the cake says try harder
the chip on my shoulder yells dip
i die face first looking up screaming without a word
(they slapped me to see if i was birthed)
the shovel was used to cut me out
we reached the right shape to finally put it in the oven
we all walked away thinking a thousand miles of dirt road out
every unspoken word now had handlebars (with streamers)
to ride straight down a mountain
the cliff we each question ourselves as
i didn't know if i was holding on or on firm ground (holding them)
(or some variation of myself)
mostly it jumped back and forth between both
any way is really the way out
any way is really the way out
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Two Ton Sloth (Brad Hamers & PZ) - Siphoning Dreams - FREE LP
Two Ton Sloth..(Big Pauper(aka PZ)and Brad Hamers)...have finally released their newest album...Siphoning Dreams...for FREE download
...the album consists of 13 tracks ...most of which were created in 2007 in preparation for/and during the Two Ton Sloth Europe tour...the project comes with a bunch of free art from each of them...and a text document with all the lyrics...
get it NOW for FREE at:
www.tokenrecluse.com
Big Pauper (PZ) - No Chance To Shine - new FREE album
the new FREE album by Big Pauper(PZ)...No Chance To Shine...
is a collection of unreleased production ranging from 2002-2006
...it features a variety of unfinished sketches, remixes & collaborative works..web exclusives and mix tape only tracks....
get it now for FREE at:
www.tokenrecluse.com
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
umewe (poem by brad hamers)
she had a small house she kept inside
her lawn had a pear tree that was now cut in half
they did everything for the amount of time it took to taste the fruit (for the amount of rings they could fit under their eyes)
if it didn’t happen right away they would spit it out
they’d rather stand around in their pigment (color) than run
i’d rather drip in place right over a spinning wheel then puddle in my intention
flash flood in my water bowl
my goal’s the high water mark i made with my happy tears
i’m my own goalie my own take cover duck duck goose and down feathered catcher’s mitt my own signal for the speed at which i drip the speed at which the wheel runs me over over and over and over again we’re lazy we’re lazy we’re lazy
like i didn’t build my own tears
out of the wrong fluid
oil would have been better
considering all the synthetics
easier to supplement the day
add myself to what’s already completed
money makes money predisposition makes the obvious
you think it out i’ll shotgun the couch
take a hit without ever being touched
doubt on the dial don’t touch the flame they’re all scared to touch the (flame) the temperature at which they were fired(burned)
burned and skin running off in thousand different directions
like a lost tongue feeling its way around on the walls
whichever corner gets me fastest to my own tendency and weaknesses
whichever cut gets me fast enough into a groove
lay the knife down (lie to a handgun) put the needle on one
forget your third eye dug out like a sponsored sports game’s warm up bench reaching for the seventh inning stretch all the way out inning number 28 i can’t remember my birthday they said it was the year of myself of the new pig pigged out on itself
jersey number was a series of onesandzeroes - a way to remember misinformed
full of bullshit and RAM
full of flower and power steering fluid
maple syrup all over my head
butter shoved up under my skin color
you can tell by the school you were given chase your fears (pulled out feathers) or your dreams
you choose and chose to sit eating the tuffet you were scared would give you spiders and mice
four mouse attached to my 24inch flat character
i was all attachment in every email
all clenched teeth and equipped with a shield for biting down
they all spoke an hour a minute
i held out my 24hour mouth guard
ahundred megabytes deep into the mold
we made pretend to compare our green
tending to our green
it’s not what you do but what you are
he was always eating while he was doing it
always nothing but what he took
objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear
she always had skyscrapers in her house
a thousand headed south birds in her sky
her (nervous) break-down was a ghost commune no one lived in
a bomb that kept teasing to go off
but we squatted in
her outlet like an extension of our own walls
we all talked like sledge hammers and wrecking balls
all swung in each other’s sleep
every tooth hanging out every shoe with a foot
we got nowhere (but in our own mouths) but where we wanted to be and could see ourselves
you bought the to-heavy-to-move furniture and slip cover
lie down on it
be all the can good that you can be
make cereal of your corn
numbering your coin flipping for which dead eye to cover first
buy you into heaven
every breath (taken) -a mugged old lady
a security camera crying in the street
she holds back what she sees
she keeps it like an ocean holding back its tide
washed up in its own bleach
harpoon through her ink
forgot it was used for defense
tried sticking (with) it through the time like sentences made of metal weighing down their word (their words were all ankles)
but who was counting
who was cutting off fingers and chopping down stilts
she made couch of her greatest height
slip cover out of her insecurities
we all sat down
the backs of our minds (top)heavy
the floorplan never big enough
i need enough room for the whip on back too
enough space for the cream
jerking off in my pocket
under the table (burnt on taxes) dream
we chase after
each other like chained dogs chasing crumbs
the next dinner table on the food chain
under hypnosis on me
get your rocking chair off
go get em get it rocking yourself to sleep
skipping like a stone over a stream
for the record i was a river
or the ocean it was leading to
number2-pencil-lead heart
always breaking at its point
she strays from her own ideas like light from a bulb
never returns
we grow old like light on a wall
like night is gray hair on day
as the day pops
and shatters out of us
how many times must i hit the “here” button
how many times can i multiply the past
me divided by myself by myself in a room with too much light
they thought i’d say the opposite (with too little light)
no police on my blocked up sidetracked mind
no new thoughts over this too easy (circular) street
she pulls day out of her like it was scotch tape
each moment to the next
right angles at every smile
bowing to the amount of target we have
closed curtains as eyes
i said i wouldn’t talk about my eyes
she said they were old
and growing the parts of her she couldn’t move
i said just blink
she said breathing in would make her drown
i try to have sympathy
but the water is all i am
so we drown together (as one)
but separate
believing in different boats
or the same one but by different name(or pronunciation)
or out of context in time
like armadas for Indians
even though the name came after the realization
we pretended we didn’t know ours
so as to we could learn to breath
trying to forget we’re under water
flash flood in my hard drive (by usb) (used to be)
bleached flag crashed up on its flagged down memory
we once hit the moon only digging for comfort food
his talent was a(n individually wrapped) snack
something he indulged in after work and between naps
she sleeps in the vending machine she bought her lunch from
a (break) broken off piece of herself that’s easy to chew
i brought mine (brown bagged) but still never ate it
worked through the breaking bones and bell like time
we carved dinner from the wild satellite we saw ourselves as
hawks circling smaller circles selling our highlighters for crayons
cold hard cash written all over the walls
an eagle in the ant web every lost hair in the net
inter-changing value for debt
she sat on her dreams
(inspecting her eggs)
the mirror that made her question herself most
the belief that we all were who we thought we were
i said as long as we’re doing it
they stayed cross hearted and limp legged
nothing jumped at (or like) the oil we had
to keep drilling for
nothing pumped faster than the hearts we swore by
and she was killed (b-flat)
roadkill on the freeway
if her car was a metaphor it would be the skin she covered with make-up to meet the day
wore her clothes like tax like something extra she had to say
over top of herself
we hung ourselves by the belt that held our pants up
that kept us deep breathing
i belted out cake crumbs and backwash
a bunch of frozen together tv dinners all playing at once
now they’re re-runs
furniture covered in plastic
they’re own grandmothers smothered in nap pillows
trade in your tongue for a walker
your begging-sign for a slave wage
your tap-dance for black paint (like stars through space)
nursing home heart
she looks to the person next to her to be unplugged
and recorded
we all woke up sound asleep
only some of us kept dreaming
i played my next move by each facial expression she made
turning over and over in her sleep
employee to the american dream
bald easel and uninspired speak clean and whistling through our fingers like loose teeth and time
whistle while you’re not working whistling each waged moment
sand in your whistle
rush hour train in your gut
but you’re never getting off
keep tugging on the (never) stop cord
whatever let’s you off at now
how’s the lemonade and chasers
the mold and window pain
she stayed
sitting in the glass
waiting for herself to break
kept counting on others
to sing in her place
duck the high note
grab the overcast sky (and all the goose feather in it you can)
ski pass yourself all the way to the bottom
whichever line feeds you first
whichever motivation leaves you unhungry
whichever thought stops short
whichever motivation leaves you unhungry
whichever motivation leaves you unhungry
(i hope you’re hopeful chewing it down)
(i hope you’re happy eating yourself out)
(a hundred overdone dinners on me)
(and because of that
on you)
(like your old house and all which/what it represented
in the spirit of us)
p.s. you is me
(and)other possible titles:
“lower middle beauty”
“a gallon of milk on beauty stamps”
“low rent beauty”
“disgusting beautiful”
“groceries on beauty stamps”
“funhouse mirrors”
“collecting unemployment and beauty stamps”
“ghost towns”
“ghost projects”
“stuck up ugly”
“mouth wash”
“pretty nothing”
“kicking god while he’s down”
“racing a dead horse”
“parking tickets”
“shooting the mirror” “holding up a mirror”
“don’t feed the birds”
“love letter”
her lawn had a pear tree that was now cut in half
they did everything for the amount of time it took to taste the fruit (for the amount of rings they could fit under their eyes)
if it didn’t happen right away they would spit it out
they’d rather stand around in their pigment (color) than run
i’d rather drip in place right over a spinning wheel then puddle in my intention
flash flood in my water bowl
my goal’s the high water mark i made with my happy tears
i’m my own goalie my own take cover duck duck goose and down feathered catcher’s mitt my own signal for the speed at which i drip the speed at which the wheel runs me over over and over and over again we’re lazy we’re lazy we’re lazy
like i didn’t build my own tears
out of the wrong fluid
oil would have been better
considering all the synthetics
easier to supplement the day
add myself to what’s already completed
money makes money predisposition makes the obvious
you think it out i’ll shotgun the couch
take a hit without ever being touched
doubt on the dial don’t touch the flame they’re all scared to touch the (flame) the temperature at which they were fired(burned)
burned and skin running off in thousand different directions
like a lost tongue feeling its way around on the walls
whichever corner gets me fastest to my own tendency and weaknesses
whichever cut gets me fast enough into a groove
lay the knife down (lie to a handgun) put the needle on one
forget your third eye dug out like a sponsored sports game’s warm up bench reaching for the seventh inning stretch all the way out inning number 28 i can’t remember my birthday they said it was the year of myself of the new pig pigged out on itself
jersey number was a series of onesandzeroes - a way to remember misinformed
full of bullshit and RAM
full of flower and power steering fluid
maple syrup all over my head
butter shoved up under my skin color
you can tell by the school you were given chase your fears (pulled out feathers) or your dreams
you choose and chose to sit eating the tuffet you were scared would give you spiders and mice
four mouse attached to my 24inch flat character
i was all attachment in every email
all clenched teeth and equipped with a shield for biting down
they all spoke an hour a minute
i held out my 24hour mouth guard
ahundred megabytes deep into the mold
we made pretend to compare our green
tending to our green
it’s not what you do but what you are
he was always eating while he was doing it
always nothing but what he took
objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear
she always had skyscrapers in her house
a thousand headed south birds in her sky
her (nervous) break-down was a ghost commune no one lived in
a bomb that kept teasing to go off
but we squatted in
her outlet like an extension of our own walls
we all talked like sledge hammers and wrecking balls
all swung in each other’s sleep
every tooth hanging out every shoe with a foot
we got nowhere (but in our own mouths) but where we wanted to be and could see ourselves
you bought the to-heavy-to-move furniture and slip cover
lie down on it
be all the can good that you can be
make cereal of your corn
numbering your coin flipping for which dead eye to cover first
buy you into heaven
every breath (taken) -a mugged old lady
a security camera crying in the street
she holds back what she sees
she keeps it like an ocean holding back its tide
washed up in its own bleach
harpoon through her ink
forgot it was used for defense
tried sticking (with) it through the time like sentences made of metal weighing down their word (their words were all ankles)
but who was counting
who was cutting off fingers and chopping down stilts
she made couch of her greatest height
slip cover out of her insecurities
we all sat down
the backs of our minds (top)heavy
the floorplan never big enough
i need enough room for the whip on back too
enough space for the cream
jerking off in my pocket
under the table (burnt on taxes) dream
we chase after
each other like chained dogs chasing crumbs
the next dinner table on the food chain
under hypnosis on me
get your rocking chair off
go get em get it rocking yourself to sleep
skipping like a stone over a stream
for the record i was a river
or the ocean it was leading to
number2-pencil-lead heart
always breaking at its point
she strays from her own ideas like light from a bulb
never returns
we grow old like light on a wall
like night is gray hair on day
as the day pops
and shatters out of us
how many times must i hit the “here” button
how many times can i multiply the past
me divided by myself by myself in a room with too much light
they thought i’d say the opposite (with too little light)
no police on my blocked up sidetracked mind
no new thoughts over this too easy (circular) street
she pulls day out of her like it was scotch tape
each moment to the next
right angles at every smile
bowing to the amount of target we have
closed curtains as eyes
i said i wouldn’t talk about my eyes
she said they were old
and growing the parts of her she couldn’t move
i said just blink
she said breathing in would make her drown
i try to have sympathy
but the water is all i am
so we drown together (as one)
but separate
believing in different boats
or the same one but by different name(or pronunciation)
or out of context in time
like armadas for Indians
even though the name came after the realization
we pretended we didn’t know ours
so as to we could learn to breath
trying to forget we’re under water
flash flood in my hard drive (by usb) (used to be)
bleached flag crashed up on its flagged down memory
we once hit the moon only digging for comfort food
his talent was a(n individually wrapped) snack
something he indulged in after work and between naps
she sleeps in the vending machine she bought her lunch from
a (break) broken off piece of herself that’s easy to chew
i brought mine (brown bagged) but still never ate it
worked through the breaking bones and bell like time
we carved dinner from the wild satellite we saw ourselves as
hawks circling smaller circles selling our highlighters for crayons
cold hard cash written all over the walls
an eagle in the ant web every lost hair in the net
inter-changing value for debt
she sat on her dreams
(inspecting her eggs)
the mirror that made her question herself most
the belief that we all were who we thought we were
i said as long as we’re doing it
they stayed cross hearted and limp legged
nothing jumped at (or like) the oil we had
to keep drilling for
nothing pumped faster than the hearts we swore by
and she was killed (b-flat)
roadkill on the freeway
if her car was a metaphor it would be the skin she covered with make-up to meet the day
wore her clothes like tax like something extra she had to say
over top of herself
we hung ourselves by the belt that held our pants up
that kept us deep breathing
i belted out cake crumbs and backwash
a bunch of frozen together tv dinners all playing at once
now they’re re-runs
furniture covered in plastic
they’re own grandmothers smothered in nap pillows
trade in your tongue for a walker
your begging-sign for a slave wage
your tap-dance for black paint (like stars through space)
nursing home heart
she looks to the person next to her to be unplugged
and recorded
we all woke up sound asleep
only some of us kept dreaming
i played my next move by each facial expression she made
turning over and over in her sleep
employee to the american dream
bald easel and uninspired speak clean and whistling through our fingers like loose teeth and time
whistle while you’re not working whistling each waged moment
sand in your whistle
rush hour train in your gut
but you’re never getting off
keep tugging on the (never) stop cord
whatever let’s you off at now
how’s the lemonade and chasers
the mold and window pain
she stayed
sitting in the glass
waiting for herself to break
kept counting on others
to sing in her place
duck the high note
grab the overcast sky (and all the goose feather in it you can)
ski pass yourself all the way to the bottom
whichever line feeds you first
whichever motivation leaves you unhungry
whichever thought stops short
whichever motivation leaves you unhungry
whichever motivation leaves you unhungry
(i hope you’re hopeful chewing it down)
(i hope you’re happy eating yourself out)
(a hundred overdone dinners on me)
(and because of that
on you)
(like your old house and all which/what it represented
in the spirit of us)
p.s. you is me
(and)other possible titles:
“lower middle beauty”
“a gallon of milk on beauty stamps”
“low rent beauty”
“disgusting beautiful”
“groceries on beauty stamps”
“funhouse mirrors”
“collecting unemployment and beauty stamps”
“ghost towns”
“ghost projects”
“stuck up ugly”
“mouth wash”
“pretty nothing”
“kicking god while he’s down”
“racing a dead horse”
“parking tickets”
“shooting the mirror” “holding up a mirror”
“don’t feed the birds”
“love letter”
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
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